


The Taking

by lone_lilly



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lone_lilly/pseuds/lone_lilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castle's not the only one tired of waiting. Beckett decides it's time to take the lead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taking

**Author's Note:**

> Turns out I will do anything to keep a [](http://mammothluv.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**mammothluv**](http://mammothluv.dreamwidth.org/) happy and writing me fic, including challenging her to fic-off if that's what it takes. Meets the prompt _07\. Boundaries_ [here](http://la-scapigliata.dreamwidth.org/32579.html), as in the breaking down of the.

  


**Title:** The Taking  
 **Author:** [](http://lone-lilly.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**lone_lilly**](http://lone-lilly.dreamwidth.org/) || [](http://onlylonelilly.livejournal.com/profile)[**onlylonelilly**](http://onlylonelilly.livejournal.com/)  
 **Fandom:** _Castle_  
 **Pairing:** Castle/Beckett  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** Inspired by the sneaks for "The Limey" but can be read without being spoiled. Some mild spoilers for the Nikki Heat books.  
 **Summary:** Castle's not the only one tired of waiting. Beckett decides it's time to take the lead.  
 **Notes:** Turns out I will do anything to keep a [](http://mammothluv.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**mammothluv**](http://mammothluv.dreamwidth.org/) happy and writing me fic, including challenging her to fic-off if that's what it takes. Meets the prompt _07\. Boundaries_ [here](http://la-scapigliata.dreamwidth.org/32579.html), as in the breaking down of the.

~~~

 

She's so tired of this thing between them. The waiting. The games. Flaunting dates they don't want in front of each other just to make the other one jealous. Taking the care to dress up for him, every hair tucked in place, her hips swaying invitingly under the clinging fabric only to have him rake her over with a single glance that left _her_ hot and swollen and _wanting_ with nothing to cool the ache but her own fingers and the ghost of his desire.

And Christ, she's tired of that, too. It was fine, _enough_ , when she could sink into her bed at night, or a bath, or the ladies' room at the precinct when she was too desperate to wait and he'd given her one of those looks, touched her a little too intimately, exalted her strengths in elaborate detail. Not enough, not really, but it was better than this. Better than the nothing of the past few weeks. The emptiness in his eyes (not empty at all but she doesn't understand the thing that looks like _hate_ there), the way he doesn't touch her at all anymore. Or how he never wants to go for a drink now, when they'd made a habit of beer and peanuts at the Old Haunt every Friday night.

She doesn't know what changed him. But she's a detective, trained to read into the darkest secrets of people's souls, and if she accepts that he wanted her before (and she knows he did, she can lie to herself but how many times has she gotten off on that very idea?) then he still wants her now. He must. She refuses to believe he might not.

He just needs to be reminded. And she's tired enough to finally take this thing, this tenuous, breakable thing between them into her own hands.

 

~~~

 

His apartment is dark when she lets herself in. Martha and Alexis are on a trip which she knows because he told Ryan instead of her, said he would be writing this weekend, and she wonders what he's working out with Nikki that he can't work out with her.

His key is heavy in her hand as she slips it into her coat pocket. He'd given it to her when he'd tied Jameson Rook to an office chair, said one could never be too careful in New York, that he could use the extra security knowing she only had to unlock a door to save his ass if he ever needed it.

Thank God she's never had to use it, never had to break into his home to rescue him. Until now.

She finds him in his office. Not behind the desk where he writes his masterpieces, weaving beguiling tales of suspense and a sweet little fledgling romance between a detective and a journalist, but in a leather arm chair in the corner, staring out at the Manhattan landscape sheathed in shadows. She can see the bottle of scotch on the windowsill, gleaming in the city light. Mostly empty now.

It's only when she sees him sitting there alone that she considers the idea he could have had someone else here with him. An irrelevant point now that she knows for a fact that he doesn't, but worth considering. Three weeks ago she would have known he'd be by himself, never would have doubted it.

"Castle," she murmurs from the doorway, and the throaty purr she hears in her own voice is as much a consequence of the wine she'd had before working up the nerve to come over as it is her plans for him. For the both of them.

He grunts in acknowledgement and she can't decide if it's in surprise or expectation, and she finds that bothers her more than anything else.

"So, this is what you'd rather do, Castle?" she teases as she slowly crosses the distance between them, the easy swagger of her hips belying the wariness in her gaze. She's never seen him so despondent. So... shut down. "Brood in the dark instead of spend the evening drinking with me?"

"What are you doing here?" he growls, his voice thick with scotch and disinterest and the flutter in her stomach warns her. He's always been dangerous, but never like this. "I didn't flash the bat signal."

"Signals must have gotten crossed," she shrugs slightly and pauses in front of him, her fingers toying with the belt of her coat. A tug, slight, she didn't tie the knot tightly, and the lapels slip open. She rolls her shoulders and the garment falls like liquid to the floor. "You want me to leave then?"

He looks. She knew he would, he hasn't met her eyes in days but he'll look now. And she knows what he sees: the black corset pushing up her breasts, the lace that barely covers anything between her thighs, the seamed stockings held up by garters. She could possibly have worn a sign that read "Won't you just hurry up and fuck me, Castle?" but she thinks this gets her point across nevertheless.

It's not so dark that she misses his reaction, the way his eyes widen and then narrow, the sharp intake of breath through his nostrils and, oh, there it is: the quiet little noise of approval that catches in his throat.

He still wants her.

"Beckett," he chokes but she can't let him do this, won't let him push her away any more than he already has. Four years, that's enough, right? She's done waiting.

"Where have you _been_?" she interrupts whatever he meant to say, the warm syrup in her voice lost to the pleading to understand. "Did you really think I didn't love you? Like I could stop _that_? Like there was ever a _choice_? After all this time... you've called me out on every single thing I've tried to hide from you. Every single one. But you missed that?"

She stops, inhales a calming breath, forces herself back in the moment. No, he knew. She can see that. Deep down, they've known forever.

"Or did you think I didn't want you?" she steps closer, swaying lightly on her heels as her knees press against his. It's the way his gaze slides away from hers that answers her question and fractures her heart.

_Oh._

She gets it. The game, the verbal sparring. She'd always considered it foreplay but she sees she's played it too well.

"Jesus, Castle," she breaths, and her body curves over his, one hand bracing herself on the back of his chair while the other reaches for one of his. She brings his palm to her mouth, presses a kiss against the fleshy pad at the bottom, lets her teeth catch briefly so that he hisses a slight exhale of air. She watches intently as she pushes his hand to her thigh, slips it between her legs. "Don't you feel it? Me?"

"Kate," he sighs, a little uncertain still, even though her fingers are showing his how to touch her and the proof of her desire is more than the skimpy material of her panties can hide. "You're so wet."

She is, God help her, she's _burning_ with it and his fingers are a brilliant tease, pressing the damp lace just hard enough to scratch her swollen, sensitive flesh. Abrade it.

"Four years is a long time," she moans, her head tilting until their foreheads meet, her hair falling like a curtain around them. "Don't you think?"

"Fuck, yes," he agrees and his growl this time is easier to read. His walls have always been so much easier to dismantle than her own. "Come here."

His empty hand seeks out her waist, pulls her down until she's straddling him, his legs spreading hers wide so he can push aside the flimsy barrier of lace. The kiss, not their first but a real one, no hiding behind a case this time, is the sort that starts first with the brush of a nose against a cheek, lips parting, sparking off at the contact and finally colliding together in an erotic frenzy as their tongues tangle.

Castle is an exquisite kisser; she's known that for awhile. But he touches her with an expert's deftness that he can't possibly know, not from experience with her anyway. She's never been the sort to begrudge a man his history but she can't help the pang of jealousy that uncoils in her stomach at the thought of Castle practicing this particular skill with his previous league of women. She tries to tamp it down though, enjoy the fruits of his labor, savor his instinctual knowledge.

She's aroused enough that he doesn't need to seek it out but he does it anyway, pressing the length of a fingertip inside her before spreading her slick desire up to her clit and circling, circling. Slowly. Making her pelvis roll against his hand, searching for more.

When he repeats the maneuver, his finger pushes in farther this time, thick, searching, curving along the shape of her body and then there's a second one too, both of them pumping, and his thumb brushes the hood of her clit back and she fists her hand in the lapel of his button-down shirt for purchase.

"God, that's--," she sighs and sucks his tongue, traps it between her own and the roof of her mouth.

"Yeah," he agrees, the word muffled but she understands it without issue because it echoes her sentiments exactly. Yeah. _There_. Don't stop. Don't you _dare_ stop.

She rocks in his lap as his fingers, gorgeous, calloused writer's fingers fuck her close to the edge of orgasm and she releases his mouth on a wordless sigh, the air in the room suddenly too thick to relieve her lungs. "Shit. You're going to make me come, Castle."

"Always wondered if I could," he quips, nipping just over her _os hyoideum_ , tongue inflaming the skin instead of soothing it.

"Been successful more than you know."

A third finger stretches her, fills her, rewards her for her admission and makes the yearning inside her expand until she's left keening with it, gulping for air and clinging to him. And then his tongue thrusts into her mouth, flicks against hers in a brief penetration, thick, heavy, and she thinks of something else of his that might be that heavy on her tongue and -- _oh, fuuck_ \-- she finally splinters, comes apart hard on his hand.

She sinks against him after, her face buried in the crook of his neck, fingers still tenting the fabric of his shirt as she listens to the the blood pound in her ears, feels the muscles in her sex twitch with satiation. He touches her like he can't get enough of the feel of her, rubbing her back, the curve of her ass, her thighs now sticky with her own arousal. And she lets him, indulging in the urgent tenderness of his fingers claiming ownership, mapping her body the way he has her soul for years.

"So," she begins, pulling back to look at him, and her voice doesn't quite hold the steadiness she prides herself for, but it's not too bad considering she can feel Castle's cock pressing against the place he just made tremble for him. She drops her hand to the insistent bulge in his jeans, squeezes experimentally once then again with possession. "I guess now the question is... do you still want _me_?"

"Christ, Kate, always," he shudders as she flicks her fingernail against him, drawing a _K_ in the denim that makes his eyes slam shut. " _Constantly_."

She laughs, her head tilting back with the relief of it, the joy, the sheer anticipation of everything they're about to do to each other. A thousand primal things.

She grins wickedly and wraps her arms tight around his neck as she lunges for his mouth again. "Then take me to bed, Castle."


End file.
